


fidelitas

by earnshaws



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, F/M, Knighthood, Oaths & Vows, Paladin Nonsense, Relationship Study, Size Difference, Sorcerer Nonsense, Tenderness, Trans Male Character, fidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:01:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22057456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earnshaws/pseuds/earnshaws
Summary: Here’s the thing: Azu’s watched Hamid lose more than anyone should ever lose, and when they’d gotten back from Rome, at the Tahan mansion, she’d knelt in front of him full-armored and solemn, and bowed her head, and promised him— promised her god— promisedherself—that she would never, ever leave him behind. She’d offered him her sword (well, greataxe, but still) in the ancient rite of fidelity, and sworn that she would not let any more harm come to him. Let the sky fall, let civilization crumble, let their mission fail: the bond that bound them was as bright and sere as the sky over her home, and she would not allow it to break.
Relationships: Azu/Aphrodite, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Azu, by way of metaphor
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	fidelitas

ἔνθεν δὲ προτέρω πλέομεν ἀκαχήμενοι ἦτορ,  
ἄσμενοι ἐκ θανάτοιο, φίλους ὀλέσαντες ἑταίρους.

_Then we sailed onwards, grieved in our hearts_  
_Glad to have escaped from death, but mourning our lost friends._

— Homer, _Odyssey_ 9.565-6

The worst thing, Azu thinks, is the damn _rain_.

A bit odd, to focus on the weather in such a scenario, but Azu’s been in nastier situations before (though never one so, ah, emotionally fraught), and for whatever reason that’s the thing that really bothers her here.

Quite possibly it’s simply cabin fever. The inn Wilde’s got them at is nice enough, to be sure, but she’s never been one for the indoors and she aches to be out in the woods— chopping firewood, if they needed it, or even just running along the country roads, pushing her body until her thighs burned with exertion and her breath came fast and hard. She lives for that feeling, her heart pumping her blood so clean and clear that all the worry and frustration and grief are seared away by that vital heat. Aphrodite, she knows, isn’t precisely the goddess of the physical heart, the Greek _phren—_ that’s always been more the domain of Zeus, or Apollo— but there’s a reason that the people who first worshipped her deity associated her with what they thought was the seat of feeling. The beat of Azu’s heart when she’s pushing herself, inimitable and profound as it is simple and mundane, has always made her feel closer to her Lady.

Anyway. Azu can certainly work out plenty inside; she’s sure she’s made herself quite a nuisance, lifting whatever heavy objects she could find and stack on a barbell in the inn. And she could always go out, even in the rain; she’s dealt with inclement weather before. But she isn’t used to all the wet, and she misses the sun— Kenya’s got forests like these, sure, but it’s a dry place, save for the short monsoon season. Then it’s customary to be inside with one’s family, taking a long holiday from work, and here...well.

All she’s got here is Hamid, and he has been— not making himself _scarce_ , exactly, but certainly not being as sociable as he usually is. Perhaps it’s the presence of that dwarven fellow, Zolf, who was apparently an old friend of Hamid’s from the London Rangers days. Azu’s been mostly trying to avoid him. It isn’t that she doesn’t like him, he seems perfectly all right, but she’s— suspicious, in a way she hasn’t ever been before. Something about the guardedness of everyone in this brave new world, the chill that’s grown up between people, is rubbing off on her. She doesn’t like it, and she doesn’t like the way her heart twinges when she thinks of the times she’s seen Hamid with Zolf, an unpleasant little pinprick that feels ugly and— _jealous_.

Which she _isn’t_ , she’s glad Hamid has someone else to lean on, Zeus knows that he needs all the support he can get. She’s just...protective. Because from what she understands, Zolf walked out on Hamid when he needed him, way back in Prague. Now he’s here again, sure, but who’s to say he won’t do the same thing again?

Here’s the thing: Azu’s watched Hamid lose more than anyone should ever lose, and when they’d gotten back from Rome, at the Tahan mansion, she’d knelt in front of him full-armored and solemn, and bowed her head, and promised him— promised her god— promised _herself—_ that she would never, ever leave him behind. She’d offered him her sword (well, greataxe, but still) in the ancient rite of fidelity, and sworn that she would not let any more harm come to him. Let the sky fall, let civilization crumble, let their mission fail: the bond that bound them was as bright and sere as the sky over her home, and she would not allow it to break.

He’d teared up then, and so had she, and she’d reached out and hugged him to herself as tightly as she could. He was so small in her arms, so unbearably fragile that she wanted to keep holding on forever— her friend, her mage, her oath. Even through her armor he was so warm she would have sworn he was feverish, and his heart was as fast and delicate as hers was slow and steady-strong—

Anyway. She isn’t jealous, is the upshot. And she’s been trying not to push herself on Hamid, as worried as she is. They’ve spent a decent amount of time together since they left the cell, and she understands why he might want to catch up with an old friend. She’s fine on her own, anyway— she’s been keeping a more rigorous workout routine than at any time since she left seminary, and attempting to make herself useful in the kitchen when she isn’t putting in copious reps. The innkeeper (whose name, she’s managed to get even with her nonexistent Japanese, is Toshiko) has been grudgingly accepting of her help, and though she isn’t exactly a _good_ cook it’s hard to mess up too badly with a hawk-eyed chef scrutinizing your every move.

Azu has managed to steal a few minutes of solitary kitchen time while Toshiko’s out front tending bar, making the coconut rice her grandmother taught her as a staple back home, when there’s a knock at the door. She turns to see Hamid, well-dressed as ever but a little disheveled, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes are just a bit too bright, and though to anyone else it’d be undetectable Azu knows him well enough to pick up on the tiny waver in his voice when he says, “Hi, Azu.”

Azu sets down her bowl of rice. “Hello, Hamid,” she says, tentatively. There’s something brittle about his posture, affected and too-casual. “Is everything all right?”

“Can we— talk?” he asks, and gestures down the hallway. “Alone?”

 _Where no one can hear_ , is what he means, and Azu’s heart breaks a little. “Of course,” she says, and follows him back to his bedroom, which is a bit larger and more well-appointed than hers.

The moment she shuts the door behind them and kneels down in front of him, Hamid collapses into her arms, sobs wracking his body. For half a moment Azu stiffens, surprised at the suddenness, but then Hamid clutches at her shirt like a drowning man and she softens easily as anything, holding him to her gentle and firm.

For a good minute he’s crying too hard to say anything, knees so weak the only thing holding him up is Azu’s grip, and she lets him— rubs soothing circles into his back but doesn’t speak, not even when he uses her shirt as an impromptu hanky.

“I just— I’m sorry,” he manages eventually, “I’m sorry, I’m being absurd, I just— I was going through my things and I came across an old photo I’d kept in my wallet, of all of us, back in Cairo, and it just triggered something, and I didn’t want to be alone—”

“Don’t be sorry,” Azu says softly. “I miss them too.”

Hamid gives a hitching little sob, and Azu reaches up, brushes his tear-damp hair out of his face. “It’s funny, how grief is,” he sniffs. “One moment you’re fine, like nothing’s even happened, and the next it hits you so hard you can’t— breathe, can’t—” He chokes on the end of the sentence, and buries his face in Azu’s shoulder, not crying but shaking so hard she’s afraid he’s going to fly apart. She holds him tighter, and tries not to let him see the tears in her own eyes.

“I just can’t believe they’re gone,” he says, quietly and somewhat stuffily, once he’s composed himself a little. “I keep expecting Sasha to— slip out of the shadows, or something—”

“I know,” whispers Azu. Very gently, she shifts so that she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, and pulls Hamid into her lap. He lets her, gratefully, and settles into the crook of her arm with a sort of wrung-out, exhausted limpness that makes her heart twinge. She’ll never get over how _small_ he is, how painfully delicate, and as she strokes his sweaty hair and wipes the tears from his cheeks she marvels at the trembling warmth of his little body, so hot she’d swear he had a furnace burning inside him.

“Sorry for dumping this on you,” he sniffles, wiping his nose (this time with an actual hanky, the silk one embroidered with his initials that he keeps in his breast pocket). “I just— I needed to talk to someone, and Zolf— so much has changed, and of course it’d hardly be appropriate with Wilde—”

“Hamid,” Azu says quietly and seriously, “stop apologizing. You have a right to grieve.”

“I know,” he says, and settles a little more against her. “I know I do, Azu, it’s just— I’ve been trying not to think too hard about it, and when I was reminded, it just sort of...all came rushing out. I’ve been trying to hold it together for— for the mission, and for you, but gods, it’s so _hard,_ and I miss them so much, all the time _—_ ”

Azu takes his chin in her hand, and tilts his face up to hers. “Hamid. Listen to me. You don’t— you don’t have to hold it together, not for me. We went through the same thing, remember? Don’t carry all of it yourself.” She leans down and kisses his forehead, salty with sweat. “Let me help you.”

“I loved them so much, Azu,” he whispers, his voice breaking, and presses his face into her chest. “I loved them so much, and we let them go, we let them _go—_ ”

“Stop it,” Azu says firmly, grasping the back of his head. “We can’t blame ourselves. We did all we could, and we’ll keep doing all we can. Curie didn’t say zero, remember?” She looks down into Hamid’s beautiful golden eyes, still wet with tears. “Remember?”

“I remember,” he says, softly.

“And you remember the promise I made you, back in Cairo,” she says, cupping his face in her hand. “To never let you go.”

Hamid looks down, swallows, looks back up. “You’re my knight, and I’m your mage.”

“And that means we’re there for each other. We’re never, ever alone.”

“Yeah.” Hamid wipes the last of his tears away, and nods again. “Never alone.”

They stay like that for a while, Hamid curled in Azu’s lap, absently fisting his hands in the thin tear-soaked fabric of her shirt. Azu rubs his back, slipping a hand underneath his somewhat disheveled oxford and making slow circles on the smooth skin over his lower spine. He’s a little less feverishly hot, now that his emotions are running lower, and she’s no longer afraid that he’ll burst into flames in her arms.

When the last of the rain-drenched daylight begins to fade from the windows, bringing on yet another dreary night, Hamid gives a final sniffle, and looks up at her with something of a sheepish smile. “Ah— odd question, I know, but do you mind if I...stay here awhile? I just— I don’t want to be alone, just yet.”

“Of course,” says Azu softly. “Do you—” she clears her throat, suddenly self-conscious— “do you want me to hold you?”

What with how flushed he is from crying, Azu can’t quite tell if that’s a blush coloring Hamid’s cheeks. “Yes, actually, that would be lovely. Could you— could you pick me up?”

Instead of answering, Azu gathers him up and stands, almost not needing to account for his weight. He’s so damn _light_ in her arms, birdlike and breakable, and the little hitch in his breath as she picks him up and carries him to the bed makes her heart skip a beat.

She thinks, suddenly, of trying desperately to protect him from the invisible... _thing_ in Rome— how terrified she’d felt when he broke away from her, how when she watched him catch on fire it felt like she was burning too. Almost subconsciously, she holds Hamid tighter as she settles them under the covers, cradling him against her back-to-chest. Hamid sighs, and grasps her hand with both of his as she wraps her arms around him.

If Azu were a wiser woman, she wouldn’t care so damn much about someone so heartbreakingly vulnerable. If she were smart, she’d pin her affections on a fellow-knight, someone just as strong and tough as she was. That way she wouldn’t have to live with this constant worry gnawing at her soul, the deep terror of harm coming to someone she loved with all the strength of her heart— and that was the crux of the matter, right there. Azu had never been good about controlling her heart; it was why she was such a capable devotee, why Aphrodite had called to her since before she’d known there was such a goddess at all. To be a true knight of her Lady, one must have love as deep and boundless as the ocean, love that fled from neither danger nor death, love that was brave and bold and defiant of all restrictions. She could no more choose not to love for the sake of avoiding pain than she could tear the beating heart from her chest.

And Hamid wasn’t— helpless, of course not. She’d seen the way he looked at open flame, as though he longed to take it into himself, stoke the fire that burned bright and hot within him. He could raze the world to the ground, if he wanted; leave smoking ruin in his wake, feed it all to the flames she’d seen glimpses of during battles. Once, just after he’d fireballed some enemy or other, he’d turned to her, and his teeth were bared and sharp and his eyes were like molten gold— and for a moment she’d felt the overwhelming urge to kneel before him, as though he were a king, and she were his knight. Only for a moment, though, and then he smiled in that self-deprecating way he had, and she blocked a strike that would have hit him with her shield, and the spell was broken.

Anyway. All that power in such a fragile form, as finely wrought as the gilt patterns he was so fond of...it worried her, was the thing. She was always scared he’d burn up, that the energy humming in his blood would prove too much for the constraints of his body, that he’d self-immolate in a blaze of near-divine glory, and— he’d be gone. Godlike, but gone.

Azu’s had plenty of experience with the divine. She’s spent half her life pining after something bright and unreachable, so ineffably glorious she could barely look at it without going blind. She would prefer that her best friend stay here, on Earth, with her.

“What are you thinking about?” asks Hamid, shifting a little against her. She realizes with a start that her hands are warmer than they’ve been since— in a long time, with both of his wrapped around them. He really is like a living hearth, so warm that it’s beginning to get a bit stuffy under the blankets. Hamid doesn’t seem to be feeling it, though. Not surprising.

“You,” she responds, moving the blankets so she can get a bit more air.

“Hm,” responds Hamid, snuggling a little further into her, and with a start Azu recognizes the tone in his voice— then promptly assumes that she must be misreading it. “What about me?”

“How gods-damned warm you are, dragon boy,” Azu teases. “You’re like bottled fire.”

“Bottled fire, hm?” says Hamid, and turns so that he’s facing her. In the soft amber light of the bedside lamp, his eyes look liquid, pupils so wide in the dimness that his irises are just a ring of shining gold around them.

“Yes,” says Azu, and then, “Hamid. Are you—”

“Am I _what_?” asks Hamid, that same mischievous note in his voice, and reaches up, so that his arms are draped over Azu’s shoulders. He’s so close she can taste his breath, warm and sweet and tinged with cinnamon.

 _I suppose that’s a yes, then_ , Azu thinks to herself. Apparently she hadn’t misread it at all. “Hamid, are you sure about this?”

“Hm?” asks Hamid, and Azu feels it in her chest, because Hamid has pulled himself close to her and buried his face in the space between her neck and her shoulder. He isn’t— kissing her, so much as he is breathing her in, and the vibrations of his humming send shivers down her spine.

“Hamid,” says Azu, “stop.”

And he pulls back, manner changing from languid to alert. His voice loses that teasing note. “Oh, gods, Azu, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“It’s not that,” she cuts him off, and pulls him back in. Her heart thrills as she does so, in the same way it does when she plunges into battle, or does anything else particularly risky. “You don’t have to— put on that act with me.”

Hamid frowns. “Act?”

Azu wrinkles her nose. “You know. That Casanova thing you were doing. You don’t have to be all— seductive. I know you too well for that.”

Hamid’s blush reaches the points of his ears. “I— yes. Right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” says Azu, and reaches up to cup his face in her hand. “But I do need to know, if you’re...if you’re sure of this. You’re emotional, we’re both grieving, that— I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret. If you want, we can forget all about this.”

“Do you want to?” asks Hamid, softly, all traces of flirtation gone.

Azu swallows, braces herself. Her heart’s pounding like she’s just finished a battle. “No.”

“Good,” says Hamid, very quietly. He reaches up to mirror her gesture, cupping her face with his hand, and leans in to kiss her.

For a moment, Azu’s worried about the...logistics of this sort of thing— Hamid’s so much smaller than she is, and there are her tusks to contend with (she briefly flashes back to her first girlfriend, another orc from her village, and the absolute mess their teenage attempted makeouts had been). But, clearly, these are obstacles Hamid is well equipped to handle. He kisses her so tenderly it makes her breath catch in her throat, and she does her best to equal his gentle care.

“Is that all right?” he asks, when they break off for air. His eyes are still closed, and the expression on his face is very nearly beatific. The sight of him almost steals Azu’s breath again— for one fervent moment she wishes she were a painter, so that she could capture the way he looks right now, so heart-stoppingly beautiful he might as well be a saint.

(She’d felt the same way the first time she stepped into a church of her Lady. The beauty of the chapel had made her dizzy, adorned with such brilliant glory that her heart ached.)

“Yes,” she answers, and pulls him in again.

They kiss for what feels like hours, all awareness of time dissolving. Hamid is sweet and gentle, passionate without being rough, letting Azu take the lead when she wants and taking it back when she ebbs. She’s never known such tenderness; tears well up in her eyes, and she holds Hamid tighter, kisses him with a restrained fierceness an onlooker might describe as _possessive_.

For the second time that night, she promises herself never to let him go. This miracle, her friend— she’ll die before she lets harm come to him. Followers of her Lady preach divine selfishness, loving everything so much that it becomes yours, yours to protect and defend; she’s never understood that concept so well. Every blow that should be his, she’ll take for herself.

When Azu thinks to take stock of herself, she realizes that they’re curled against the headboard, Hamid cradled in her lap, his face tilted up to meet hers. She’s still fully dressed, but Hamid has stripped (or she’s stripped him) down to his underwear.

They don’t speak, for a long moment— just hold each other, foreheads pressed together. Skin to skin, Hamid is so surreally warm, his dark skin delicately tinted with a high flush. Wondering a little bit, she traces a hand over his chest, past the subtle transmutation scars, to the clusters of golden scales adorning his skin. They’re warmer than the rest of him; when she touches them, the heat surprises her enough that she draws her hand back suddenly.

“They run hot,” says Hamid, by way of apology.

“You’re gilded,” Azu murmurs in reply, and presses a kiss to the scales at the hollow of his collarbone, ignoring the surge of heat. Hamid’s breath catches in his throat, and he sighs, resting his hands on Azu’s shoulders and leaning back as she kisses down his chest, lifting him up off her lap for better access. She can feel him tremble as he does so, a shudder wracking his body at the effortless strength with which she moves him, and she smiles.

When she brings him back down, he smiles at her, another one of those near-holy smiles that make her heart stutter and thrill, and allows her to kiss him, this time opening his mouth into it and sighing. Again Azu tastes cinnamon, spice and sweetness.

“Would you like me to—” Azu pauses, trying to find the right words— “use my mouth on you?”

Hamid’s eyes widen, and despite her relatively demure phrasing, she notes with amusement that he’s blushing to the tips of his ears. “I— ah, I assumed you wanted me to—”

“Don’t worry about me,” she assures him. “This is pleasure enough.”

“All— all right,” Hamid manages. “If that’s something you’d like, then, yes. I mean— please.”

Azu disentangles herself from him, gently, and swings her legs off of the bed. Hamid sits on the edge, clad in only his underwear, and looks down at her as she kneels in front of him, biting his lip. He looks— nervous, and Azu’s heart breaks a little bit.

“Are you sure you’re all right with this?” Hamid asks. “Seeing as I’m not exactly— well, you know—”

She cuts him off with a kiss. “I love you, Hamid,” she says. “All of you.” And then, grasping the waistband of his underclothes between forefinger and thumb: “Do you mind if I take these off?”

“Oh— yes, of course.” He helps her do so, and she indulges herself with a slightly devious smile as she tosses them over her shoulder and pushes his legs apart, draping them languidly over her shoulders. Apparently unsure what to do with his hands, he settles on tentatively stroking Azu’s buzz-cut hair— that is, until she reaches up and grasps both of his hands in one of hers.

“I love you too, Azu,” he says, so quietly that she barely catches it, and then, “Ah!”

It’s been a while since Azu’s done this— the last time was with a fellow-trainee in seminary— but she fancies that she’s still got a knack for it, considering the noises Hamid is making above her. He clutches at her hand so hard she can feel the heat sear through into the marrow of her bones, thighs locked around her ears, heels digging into her shoulders. She responds by reaching up, grasping his left hip to get a better angle. He rolls his hips, grinding up against her tongue, and his sigh is like choir-music on her ears.

Very briefly, without ceasing in her attentions, she glances up. The sight of Hamid, head thrown back, lamplight glinting like fire off his scales, nearly makes her stop in her tracks. Suddenly she is very aware that she is kneeling, as she knelt at the altar of her Lady during her confirmation into the Church.

(She looked up then, too, looked up at the stained-glass portrait shining before her— Aphrodite sea-born, glorious as the dawn, as lovely as the tableau before her now. She’d looked up from her kneeling, and then, as now, bowed her head to receive the sacrament.

She could, she thinks, spend the rest of her life like this— kneeling before her love, her king, her mage as she kneels before her Lady, serving them both in every way she knows how. She is a knight; what is there for her but loyalty? What but love, and holy protection? She will be his cavalier, his shield, his lionheart; she will devote herself down to her very soul.)

A surge of that same possessiveness comes over her, and she slides her first finger in, gently as she can; Hamid practically yells at that, and clutches at her hand so tightly she can swear she feels the skin beginning to scald. On the inside he’s a furnace, slick and burning hot, and she tentatively crooks her finger and strokes him in time with her other ministrations.

When he comes, a wave of heat surges through him, so intense that it takes all of Azu’s willpower not to flinch back instinctively. He tightens around her finger as the aftershocks rock his body, little pulses of warmth that sting her already-burned skin— but she works him through all of it and then down, carefully, before pulling out her finger and sitting back on her heels.

Hamid’s lying back on the bed, supporting himself on his elbows. His hair is a mess, his skin is flushed and damp with sweat, and his eyes are glowing, molten gold swirling around his blown pupils. “My gods, Azu,” he says, when he’s caught his breath. “That was— you were— oh, no, did I burn you?”

“It’s nothing,” Azu assures him, glancing down at the shiny pink patches of skin on her hand, in the distinct shape of Hamid’s grip. Closing her eyes for a moment, she focuses and channels from the well of energy inside her, and then watches as the burns magically heal. “See?”

“Oh,” says Hamid, looking relieved. “Also, you’re...glowing? Pink?”

Azu frowns. “I—” she looks at her hand again— “oh. I suppose I am.”

“Does that…mean something?” asks Hamid, looking inquisitive.

“Only that my god’s pleased with me,” says Azu, and grins at Hamid’s brilliant blush. “Scoot over, would you?”

“I have to ask,” says Hamid, as Azu curls herself around him on her side, “is, ah, was... _that_ part of your...job? As a paladin of the goddess of love?”

Azu snorts. “Not exactly.”

“Then why would she be—”

“Pleased with me?”

“Exactly.”

Azu thinks for a moment on the fierce loyalty she’d felt, kneeling before Hamid— love so strong it overwhelmed her, knocked her from her feet like an ocean wave, bound her to him as surely as any divine oath. She thinks of the rite of fidelity, her commitment to her mage, her promise to him and to herself to never again let him go.

She thinks, too, of Hamid’s own grieving, his terror of being left behind and his certainty that he deserved to be, even now. She thinks of what he would say if he knew that she would die for him— that he’s not worth it, that he can’t lose anyone else, that she should save herself. And in the lull filled only by the rain on the roof outside, she makes herself another promise

“Oh, I don’t know,” says Azu, and closes her eyes. “Probably something unrelated.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is the second time i've used holy communion as a metaphor for eating someone out. whoops.
> 
> i have absolutely no idea if draconic scales are a class feature for pathfinder 1e draconic sorcerers, but they are in 5th ed dnd, which i know because i play the world's worst posh mage. apologies if i got that wrong.
> 
> title is latin for "faithfulness." if you wanna hear more annoying commentary on/appropriation of ancient roman thought, you can follow me on twitter @ katabant or on tumblr @ antiquarians.


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